Josh Reynolds - Neferata

He forced himself to look away, flinging out a hand. Something sparked between them and Neferata staggered. Smoke rose from her burned hand and she hissed. ‘What was that?’ she snarled, lunging for him. He avoided her grip, raising his hands. Neferata hesitated. She had allowed her anger and impatience to get the better of her once again. Even as she cursed herself, she sought to present a calm facade.

‘Your power is far greater than I thought, Morath,’ she said, stepping back.

‘If W’soran were here—’

‘He’d let me try and torture the secret out of you. Or kill you himself to spite me,’ she said gently. She could see the truth of those words strike home. ‘You know enough of him, of what he is, to know that whatever he is up to, it is not for the benefit of your people.’

Morath stiffened. His hands drooped. She resisted the urge to smile. Like Abhorash, he thought himself a hero, a man doing his best for his people, when really he was as much prey to his lusts as any of her handmaidens. The only difference was that his lust was for power rather than blood.

‘And you have the welfare of my people in mind?’ he said.

‘I have spent too many years building your people up to want to see them torn down, Morath of Mourkain,’ she said.

‘Then what do you want?’

Now she did smile. ‘I only want just a bit of information, my friend, nothing more.’

‘What do you want to know?’

Neferata leaned close and bent down. ‘What is W’soran afraid of?’ she whispered. ‘What does Ushoran desire that frightens even that old fiend?’

Morath was silent for a moment. Then, with a croak, he said, ‘A crown.’

‘What?’ Neferata stepped back, uncertain.

‘Mourkain’s crown,’ Morath said. ‘Ushoran wants the crown of Kadon. And he will not rest until he has it.’ The words stabbed into Neferata’s head like nails of cold iron, each one tossing echoes into the depths of her being.

As those echoes faded, something that was coiled in those dark depths lifted its head and Neferata felt a crawling chill spread throughout her person. ‘A crown,’ she whispered.

And in the darkness, something both familiar and foul laughed.

‘What have you done, fool?’ Neferata snarled, slamming Khaled against the pillar hard enough to crack the ancient stone. He struggled in her grip, but could not break it. For all of the power he now possessed thanks to her kiss, Neferata would ever be his superior. She lifted him up, and his feet dangled a heartbeat from the floor, his heels drumming helplessly against the pillar.

‘I–I had to act!’ Khaled sputtered. ‘He was going to kill us!’

‘Fool!’ Neferata snarled again, punctuating the curse with another smash of Khaled’s spine against the pillar. ‘Did you lose your wits, or did you have none to begin with? Al-Khattab only moved because you sought to assert direct control of the caliph!’

Khaled’s expression of injured innocence was wiped away at those words. ‘But—’ he began. Neferata made a sound of frustration and hurled him aside. He slid across the temple floor and the others were forced to move aside. Anmar made to go to his side as he hit the far wall, but Rasha and Naaima grabbed her, holding her back.

‘Let me go! She’ll kill him!’ Anmar shouted.

‘I won’t kill him, little leopard,’ Neferata said dismissively. ‘That would be both foolish and a waste. Your brother is, as yet, necessary.’ She turned and strode towards Khaled as he clambered to his feet. ‘Fortunately for you, I have no time to devise a suitable punishment. How many men in your father’s court can we count on?’

‘Many, my lady,’ Khaled said. Neferata grabbed his chin.

‘Define “many”,’ she said.

‘A third, maybe more,’ Khaled said reluctantly. ‘The nobility is suspicious of the cult, save for those of us with — ah — certain interests.’ His face hardened. ‘He would have listened to me! I know it!’

‘Why?’ Neferata said contemptuously, releasing him. ‘Because you are a hero?’

‘Because I am his son!’

‘He has many sons,’ Neferata said, turning her back on him. ‘No… You have tipped our hand, my Kontoi. You have shown the murder-lust in our hearts to our false friends. Al-Khattab is determined to exterminate us.’ She lifted her head, scenting the air that blew through the temple. ‘Even now, they come with fire and steel.’

‘They will be as sand beneath our hooves,’ Rasha said, swinging the sword she had taken from one of the assassins earlier.

‘Yes,’ Khaled said eagerly. ‘What better way to prove our power, than to kill our enemies? We will show my people the might of our cult and sever the head of the snake who threatens us in one fell swoop!’ He spread his hands. ‘My queen, you will have a kingdom again…’

Neferata stiffened. She turned, her eyes burning. Khaled blanched and scrambled backwards. ‘I wanted an empire,’ Neferata snarled. ‘What need have I of some petty caliphate? We could have had all of Araby! More, even. And all for the price of pretending that we had nothing at all!’ Her face lengthened and spread, becoming feline. Her slender frame rippled with animal muscle as she advanced on Khaled. ‘And now we will have nothing — nothing!’

‘But, Bel Aliad—’ he began.

‘Bel Aliad is a blister on the hide of the desert! Damn Bel Aliad and damn you, you waste of blood!’ Neferata shrieked, slapping him. Khaled spun and fell. Neferata howled. The inhuman sound echoed from pillar to post, descending into the deep vaults of the temple of Mordig.

And something answered her.

Throughout the temple, the great stone wells that led down into the night-black abysses beneath the sands of Araby suddenly echoed with the sounds of scrabbling talons as the children of the ghoul-god responded to the summons of their queen. The tomb-legions burst into the flickering light of the torches, a pale cancerous horde of ghouls that flooded the corridors of the temple.

Neferata had tamed them, in the first years of her freedom. Alone, she had descended into the deep vaults and fought the ghast-kings for control of their subterranean empires. Alone, she had returned with the fearful loyalty of the ghoul-tribes assured and the heads of a dozen ghast-kings tied about her naked waist.

The ghouls swept about her, chittering and whining, their filthy claws timidly touching the train of her robes as she stalked to the doors of the temple. The human servants of the cult had responded as well, their black armour and robes making them look like shadows.

‘What are you doing, Neferata?’ Naaima said, rushing to keep up with her. ‘We can fix this. We do not have to throw away a decade of careful planning for Khaled’s stupidity.’

Neferata said nothing, her face like stone. Her patience was a veil, as much a mask as the human seeming she wore. In truth, Khaled had given her an excuse to indulge the bloodthirst that had been building deep within her.

She flung open the temple doors to meet her would-be assassins. But rather than fear and steel, what she saw was something black.

It swallowed the horizon and reached for the stars, as if to strangle them. Flickering shadow-tendrils, spreading up-up-UP into the sky from some place far away, but too close for comfort. Neferata staggered, clutching at herself. Pain-nails were hammered into her head, burning her thoughts. She howled again, and staggered, clutching at her head.